


Such a Sweet Tooth

by Brorito_Dorito_Daddy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, I think not, M/M, Sibling Incest, Stridercest Secret Santa, Will I ever write anything other than casual DirkDave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brorito_Dorito_Daddy/pseuds/Brorito_Dorito_Daddy
Summary: Dave's gotta get his hyperfocused brother out of bed somehow, why not take them out to eat? As if they needed more sugar.





	Such a Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faetyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetyl/gifts).



> Thanks to Stridercest Week for hosting the Secret Santa and bein' the best around!  
> Check them out at http://stridercest-week.tumblr.com  
> Also Dylan! I had a good time writing this, hope you enjoy it!
> 
> You can also read this on my blog at https://soft-serve-strider.tumblr.com/post/169153576770/such-a-sweet-tooth

Dirk sprawls on his side of the bed, eyes fixated droopily on the bright computer screen, typing a letter a second. Occasionally reaching for something out of the tiny grocery bag on the windowsill. Pulling out a candy bar, unwrapping it and holding the stick between his teeth while he pulls off the wrapper and drops it beside him on the other side of the bed.

On _your_ side of the bed.

Gross.

You wrinkle your nose in barely restrained disgust as the cellophane lightly crackles at it joins the other numerous wrappers, piled on the dip in the mattress where your body would be resting right about now if Dirk wasn’t busy being a mindless slob. He chews on the bar, pushing it in his mouth with a fingertip as he continues to lose himself in he’s working on.

You pad over to the bed and sweep up all the wrappers into your arms and dump them on the floor, too fed up to care about the mess. You’ll make Dirk clean it up later. Climbing into bed, your shoes clatter to the floor and crunch the wrappers as you shove them off. Laying on your side with your elbow propping you up as you wrap around and stare at the computer screen. Chinese characters fill up a Google document and Dirk seems to have paused writing something out when you entered as the pinyin to characters prompt him with a list of choices.

“Mm, sup,” you offer. He doesn’t answer pressing  ‘3’ for the third transcription option. One character jumps in, and the prompt highlights the rest of the pinyin. He seems to read the choices slowly and then press 2. It fills in two characters, the list changes again.

In a fit of annoyance at your neglect, you reach right over and press 5, regardless of the options. Satisfied to get a reaction of of the other boy, even if it just a click of the tongue as he glares at you from the corner of his eye. You just shrug like it wasn’t your doing and throw your arm back to grab at the candy bag, not so much as taking a hold of it as more like throwing it off of the precarious perch of the top of the headboard. The bag slides off your shoulder upon impact and spills it’s bounty onto the mattress between you and Dirk as he watches.

You offer him a sheepish smile in apology and pick up a pink starburst, unwrapping it neatly and popping it into your mouth. If you’re lucky enough to get him back into a good mood, he might fold something out of it later.

The sweetness saturates your tongue and you almost want to spit it out again, it’s so overwhelmingly sweet. It almost makes you sick to think that Dirk has only been eating such things for the entirety of today. Shut up in his room while you wander about. Pacing enough to make him yell through the door while you think of something to do. You wanted food, but you know it’s out of boredom. But now you can’t help but sympathise with the terrible growling of your stomach after your swallow the last bit of nauseating sweet.

“You need actual food.” You suggest to Dirk and he clicks his tongue again.

“What, you mean like your intent to take me to a diner and chow down on ridiculously greasy burgers, stuffed with fries? I saw you type ‘Jeffrey's’ into Yelp.”

“The fuck. When did-”

“The mirror when you were sitting next to the vanity.” Dirk sighs and looks at the time before putting the laptop down between his legs and sitting up. Letting out a relieved breath when his back cracks satisfyingly. “Alright, fine. Treat me,” he says. “And we’re sharing the shake and fries.”

You whine in response. “Diiiirk, but you don’t like the strawberry malt.”

“Daaaaaave,” he mocks “I don’t want to have an entire cup to myself.”

Sighing exaggeratedly to show your displeasure at the arrangement, he produces an unexpected gesture in compensation. Leaning in and nuzzling your cheek, murmuring a little “Please and thank you,” as he does so.

You give in. Reaching down to lace your fingers into his and craw off the bed, tugging him along. With a little huff of laughter, he follows, scooting across the covers, carefully lifting his legs over his laptop setup. Tugging back on your hand, he uses you as a support to stand up.

You only let go of him so you can fetch some coats and scarves from the closet down the hall. Pulling out a fuzzy peach sweater, knit with white Xs and for Dirk a grey snow jacket, hood lined with black fur. Then the one red cashmere scarf you both fight over to wear. One day you hope that another one would come your way, but even with the whining and complaining about taking turns, no one seems to step up to the purchase.

In the end, you guess the ritual of quarreling has become too much of an expected and even cherished event, that it would be kind of a shame to amend the issue.

As if on cue, Dirk suddenly leans into the doorway from the room and shouts, “Call dibs!” Not even needing to specify on an item. It’s your turn to click your tongue.

“You can’t call dibs if I’m already holding it!” you yell back. Footfalls near your position and you almost subconsciously widen your stance to brace for the surely impending fight.

But instead of starting a round of roughhousing and childish squabbling, Dirk seems to relent and slump against your shoulder, arms dangling aimlessly at your sides.

“Can I have it on the way home, though?” he asks into the junction between your shoulder and neck and you can’t help but shiver from the sensation of the breath ghosting across your collar and the press of his jaw. You respond with a quiet, “Mhm,” and quick nod just to keep the shaking out of your voice, wishing you could peel away and put the clothing on already.

He reaches around to pluck the coat from your arm and slip it on and you pull the sweater over your head, heavy but soft. The scarf pinched between your fingers as you tug the lining of your cuffs and bottom down. Dirk takes this moment of vulnerability to snatch the scarf right under your nose and you let out a tiny wail at his betrayal.

“Oh _relax_ ,” he chides and _oh_. The cashmere is draped over your shoulders as he starts to wrap it up, giving a little tug at the end and it tightens snugly around your neck as well as forces you to take a step forward to prevent you from losing balance or be choked.

Right where he wants you.

Ever so slowly, his lips brush against yours. Hovering, teasing and you just can’t take it. Quickly grabbing the tall collar of his coat and _kissing_ him. He isn’t at all surprised by this and even laughs a little as you pull back with a nip to his lower lip, goading him into chasing you.

When he leans in again, a warm, smug satisfaction begins to bubble, but it pops into miffed embarrassment when he merely gives a small peck to your cheek.

“C’mon, can’t stand here all day,” he says and lets go of the scarf so he can pry your hands off his jacket, the fists of collar loosen and drop. He turns you around and leads you to the door, slowly falling into step beside you and slipping an arm around your waist by the time you’re at the threshold.

“Keys?” you ask once the door is opened and the cold blast to your face isn’t pleasant, but isn’t intolerable either. He nods and gives you a nudge to go on out while he locks the front up. You stand on the porch, dragging the scarf up over your nose and rubbing your hands together as the faintest breeze blows by. Tiny piles of snow pile up on the corner of the steps and you can’t help but wish for a little bit more. Maybe to have a fight or make a fort with; to indulge in childish romantic antics.

Another time. With Dirk’s arm returning to its rightful position around your waist, you sigh and press closer, falling into step as you descend the steps and walk out into the frosty air.

“Hey Dave, think it’ll snow while we’re getting food?”

_“Maybe…”_

 


End file.
